


farewell wanderlust

by concertconfetti



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Apocalypse, Conversations, Dimension Travel, Easter Eggs, End of the World, Folk Music, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Healthy Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Music, wow just so many conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Contact has been awkward every single time so far, and it’s only a matter of time before they have to confront the folk here. In a move, Ciri would later describe as ‘ill-advised’, Geralt simply stood up from where he was crouched behind the equipment. This is how he caught a punch to the face.“What thefuck,” Eskel hisses, “Geralt?! What the fuck are you doing here? And what the fuck are youwearing?”Geralt shook off the punch and glanced down - he was in his usual gambeson and trousers, that hadn’t changed - before looking Eskel over. He was in some sort of plaid layer over a thin shirt; black trousers made of a dense, rough fabric that was torn in places; and worn boots. “Excellent question,” he grumbles, “what the fuck are you wearing?”Geralt and Ciri find themselves in the magicless world of Southwest Virgina, followed closely by The Watcher, whose arrival sends the world into an apocalyptic spiral. Can Jaskier and Ashwood help get them out in time, or will the world collapse in on itself from the new weight of Chaos?
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 29
Kudos: 191





	farewell wanderlust

There's an explosion when Geralt and Ciri exit the portal, one that sends light and lightning cascading through the air. Geralt throws an arm over Ciri, catching a few stray sparks against his armor.

"Shit," he hisses. The portal shutters behind them; muffled shouts bounce off the walls and for a moment Geralt is overwhelmed by the sound of distress. Ciri hooks her hand around Geralt’s arm and drags him down behind cover. She leans against a metal case filled with wires and blinking lights, her eyes wild as she takes in the room around them. It’s dark ( _not dark enough to necessitate a torch or dose of Cat_ ) and cramped, the room filled with crates and cases of varying sizes, with tangles of wires and metal fixtures overhead.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ciri breathes, digging into her packs for the xenovox. When her eyes find Geralt’s, she frowns. “Portals don’t just explode, Geralt, there’s got to be a reason for it.” 

“Hmm,” the angry hum rumbles out of Geralt; he settles, checking them both over for injuries while Ciri attempts to contact Yennefer. 

“Yenn? Yenn can you hear me?” Ciri shakes the xenovox as it hisses wildly, loud whining noises bubbling through the magic device. It’s agonizingly loud to Geralt’s ears. “Damn it,” Ciri exhales harshly. 

“No xenovox?” Geralt asks. 

“No xenovox,” Ciri says, “apparently. Shit.” She sighs, slipping the small box into a pouch. “It feels like… like we’re cut off from Chaos here,” Ciri says as she shifts into a crouch from her semi-prone position against the metal case. “We might be stuck.” 

“Great,” Geralt murmurs. “Let’s just focus on finding Jaskier - ours or the one from this world. We can figure out the magic thing later.” Ciri nods, and suddenly the room around them is flooded with harsh light, causing both witchers to flinch. 

“...Should really call an ambulance!” A voice calls from the door - it’s familiar. Ciri mouths ‘Triss’ at Geralt, who nods and moves to get a better look at the room. “Everything looks fine back here,” Triss calls again, moving into the room. She’s dressed in a long blue tunic with a thick, black belt cinching it around her waist. Her dusty red hair flowed in natural curls that bounced as she moved; her coral brown face was splattered with freckles and an early set of crows feet. She is just as beautiful here as she is in any universe, but the obvious signs of aging catch Geralt off guard. 

“Shit,” Triss says - she’s moved farther into the room, closer to where the portal dumped Geralt and Ciri minutes ago. There are burn marks on the walls and the metal fixtures on the ceiling sway violently when Triss reaches up to touch them. “What the fuck happened?” 

“Ash said you might need help back here,” someone says from the door. Their voice is scratchy and distinct enough for Geralt to recognize it as Eskel - Ciri leans around the boxes that are, honestly, barely hiding the two of them and confirms it with a nod, followed quickly by her panicked scramble as Eskel walks towards them. “Need the equipment out of the way?” 

“Yeah,” Triss says, trailing off slightly. “What I don’t get is that none of Ashwood’s stuff is plugged in. I would have thought - I mean he’s usually really careful, but you know that if something were to explode it would be his tech.” 

“He said as much,” Eskel replies, wheeling metal crates out of the way. Ciri shoots Geralt a look; Geralt shrugs. Contact has been awkward every single time so far, and it’s only a matter of time before they have to confront the folk here. In a move, Ciri would later describe as ‘ill-advised’, Geralt simply stood up from where he was crouched behind the equipment. This is how he caught a punch to the face. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Eskel hisses, “Geralt?! What the fuck are you doing here? And what the fuck are you _wearing_?” 

Geralt shook off the punch and glanced down - he was in his usual gambeson and trousers, that hadn’t changed - before looking Eskel over. He was in some sort of plaid layer over a thin shirt; black trousers made of a dense, rough fabric that was torn in places; and worn boots. “Excellent question,” he grumbles, “what the fuck are you wearing?” 

“Clothes, asshole. You know, normal clothes and not ren-faire shit.” 

“The fuck is ren-faire?” 

“Okay, stop yelling,” Triss says loudly. Both Eskel and Geralt turn to look at her, and Ciri takes that moment to pop to her feet.

"Hello," she says cheerily, "my apologies, I think our portal damaged the walls and your...equipment?" She gestured vaguely at the crates around them. "But what Geralt here _should_ have opened with is that we're not your Geralt and Ciri."

"...portal?" Eskel and Triss ask in unison.

"Right, you all don't have magic," Ciri says rubbing the back of her head absently. Eskel squints at the two of them and seems to decide on something. “We came from another… version of this reality, maybe, or a different universe. Depends on your perspective, really. We’re looking for a friend of ours.” 

Eskel squints at the two of them, brows furrowed in concentration. "Okay yeah, that… makes no sense but, assuming those scars are real, you're definitely not our Geralt and Ciri," Eskel says. Triss looks at him sideways.

"You’re kidding,” she says. 

“Nah, Geralt sucks at theater make-up,” Eskel says flippantly. Geralt’s not exactly sure what that means, but scowls at the insult on principle until Ciri elbows him in the ribs. 

“Right,” he grumbles, “Why we’re here. We’re looking for -” In another room, a sharp echo screeches through the air. Geralt and Ciri to wince. “- Jaskier,” she finishes 

"Alright, whatever the fuck this is, we'll figure it out as a group," Eskel says firmly. He leaves the room without further ado, gesturing for everyone to follow. Triss rolls her eyes. 

“Right then,” she says, grinning at the two guests, “Not-Geralt, Not-Ciri - Time to give you a tour of the theater, I guess.”

The theater is bigger than any of the mummer spaces Geralt has ever seen; Ciri doesn’t look as impressed. There was seating for around two-hundred, based on a quick count, and blinding lights set up on the ceiling, all pointed at a large stage. At the moment, the stage is densely populated with instruments and people, milling around. 

“You said you were looking for someone?” Eskel asks as he sits in one of the open chairs, gesturing for Geralt and Ciri to sit with him. Before they can answer, a voice echoes around the room. 

“Ashwood, Jask, can you check the mics?” The voice asked. On stage, a man with tawny skin and long, undercut auburn hair kept back in a bun tapped a stand in front of him. 

“Standard test or you want us to sing something, Renfri?” 

“We’ll test the instruments in a second,” the voice, Renfri, apparently, says, “standard test the mics.” The man, Ashwood, Geralt assumes, shoots a thumbs up toward the back of the theater and moves to a different point on stage. Behind him stands Jaskier, this universe’s Jaskier, his short brown hair mussy and stood on end in place like he’d just woken up. He, like Ash, was dressed in the same dense, blue fabric trousers Eskel wore, and a cotton shirt with a design that read ‘Dandelion & Callonetta’ in a fancy script. There was a bandage on his forehead, fresh, likely from the explosion. 

“We’re looking for Jaskier,” Geralt says, “our Jaskier. We got separated.” 

“And you think he might be here?” Eskel asks. Ashwood and Jaskier tap gently on various stands on the stage, their voices at points echoing in the theater, amplified by the mics they test. Geralt pulls the Beacon out of his pocket; it thrums softly, no stronger than the last universe, at least as far as Geralt can tell. He grunts and shakes his head. 

“We don’t know where he ended up,” Ciri explains, “but it’s not likely that he’s here. I had to… close a portal on him. We were being pursued, still are. It’s possible we were followed - I wasn’t able to contact Yennefer so Geralt and I are flying blind here.” 

“Followed by what?” 

Geralt frowns. “Calling it the Watcher right now,” he says. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. This kind of explanation was exhausting, and Geralt couldn’t help the creeping feeling that it wastes time. Of course, Ciri couldn’t portal them elsewhere, even if she wanted to - unless they had a font of magic to pull from, which in a world like this one...

“This world isn't connected to Chaos - magic - in the same way others are,” Ciri says, pulling Geralt from his thoughts. “A creature like the Watcher is pure Chaos. It's arrival here could cause apocalyptic levels of damage."

Eskel shoots a look towards the stage and happens to catch Jaskier’s eye - he jerks his head to the side. Geralt watches Jaskier pull Ashwood aside; they both hop off the stage. 

“Okay, Triss told us something about a portal and Geralt and Ciri dopplegangers?” Ashwood asks, draping himself over Eskel from behind. Jaskier looks uncomfortable, his gaze darting between Ciri and Geralt.

Ciri makes a face. "We're not dopplers," she says, "do you even have dopplers?"

"It's an expression," Jaskier blurts out, "based on an old fairy tale and also hi how is this -" he gestures between Geralt and Ciri "- even possible? Ciri's at school and Geralt's on his way to Vesemir's, this isn't possible."

"It is," Geralt grumbles impatiently, getting to his feet. "And we're wasting time talking."

"What time?" Ciri says. "Geralt I can't get us out of here now, even if we were to find a source of Chaos, I wouldn't be able to channel it for another twenty-four hours, _at least_ , calm down."

Geralt grumbles and sits back down, swearing lightly under his breath and crossing his arms like a dramatic child. He hates this, Ciri can tell; hell, he’s pretty certain these people, replicas of people he knows, can tell and for someone who lives to project an air of mystique, people seeing through him only serves to frustrate him more. He doesn’t feel like talking about this any more - how many more times are they going to have conversations like this? Where nothing is accomplished and their Jaskier isn’t here and Geralt is _tired._

“Look,” Jaskier says, standing closer now, too close and not close enough, “Renfri said there’s a storm kicking up and Cyres and Triss want to head home so why do we take you both with us to the barn. If that’s okay with you, Eskel?” 

Eskel shrugs. “Don’t see why not. We got enough space.” 

“At least that will be more comfortable than the theater?” Jaskier says, ducking into Geralt’s line of sight. “You’ll get to meet our Geralt and uh… we can figure something out?” 

“This Ciri mentioned something about a creature following them that might end the world,” Eskel says flatly, lacing his fingers between Ashwood’s, where they hang over his shoulders. “Might want to give Regis a call, hmm?”

“Oh, cool, just throw that out there, babe,” Ashwood says, rolling his eyes. “If y’all are coming with us -” Ciri nods the affirmative before Geralt can object “- then I’ll go grab the car. I already volunteered to stable the horses when we get back, so if this storm is some sort of portent of the apocalypse, then I may as well embrace the damp.” 

Thunder claps outside as Ashwood leaves, and the steady drum of rain on the roof roars through the theater space; Cyres and Triss grab their instruments and wave at the crew from the stage. Renfri dashes out of the back doors herself, quickly enough that Geralt doesn’t catch a glimpse of her. He thinks that’s for the best - he’s feeling antsy, despite the relative calm of the last world they visited. Seeing so many versions of people he’s loved is taking more of a toll than Geralt expected.

* * *

Ashwood hasn’t seen rain like this in ages - it falls in sheets, washing over the windshield in solid waves as he white-knuckles the steering wheel and drives a car full of idiots into the mountains. Aside from the awkwardness of explaining seatbelts to two “witchers” (“If Ash crashes the car, these ensure you don’t go flying out of the windshield.” “This seems inordinately more dangerous than riding horses.” “Yeah but it’s also _faster_.” “That doesn’t seem like a reasonable trade off.”) they were crammed together in Ashwood’s Outback, pressed together and silent. It’s driving Ashwood insane. 

“Esk, please turn on the fucking radio if no one’s going to talk, I swear to Christ the silence is killing me here,” Ashwood hisses. Eskel nods and tunes the radio to the local news station.

“ - the being was spotted in close proximity to the Roanoke Airport, where the storms are the strongest and have grounded all flights. Reports coming out of the area are sparse, though people are encouraged to stay indoors and avoid all contact with the creature - ”

The car falls silent - even the quiet bickering between Jask and Ciri dies in the air as the news report details the types of symptoms victims reported after coming into contact with whatever creature was wandering around the mountains. 

“The Watcher,” Geralt says firmly. “Has to be.” 

“Fuck this, I’m putting on my editing mix,” Ashwood says under his breath. In a few taps, classic pop punk fills the car and Jaskier is explaining music trends to Ciri and Eskel and Geralt are grumbling about horses and the world is ending but it’s ending 3 hours away from here and maybe, maybe they have time. And if they have time, then Ashwood can relax, drive slowly, and get them to the fucking barn.

* * *

Eskel ushers Ciri and Jaskier into the house - Ashwood and Geralt drove farther up to secure the horses (getting this geralt to volunteer to help was just as easy as convincing his actual brother, Geralt, to help, thank christ) in the rain. Geralt, their Geralt not… Ciri used the word “witcher” to describe them on the drive, so not Witcher Geralt, called and unsurprisingly reported bullshit weather and traffic, so Eskel had time to cook and continue to pretend everything was fine. 

Everything was distinctly not fine. Jaskier was jumpy and worried - he was doing his best to sit still and regulate how loud he was speaking, but he’d still shout the occasional phrase while talking and it set Eskel on edge. He moves slowly around the kitchen, hiding the smaller knives and exacto knives in a locked drawer in the counter. 

“What are you doing?” Ciri asks softly. She’s hovering by the half-wall that separates the kitchen from the main room. Without the swords, she looks so much like their Ciri that Eskel almost forgets. Almost. 

“Moving the knives,” he grumbles, as if that will explain everything. He frowns when Jaskier scoffs from the other room. 

“You know he wouldn’t,” Jaskier says. “Ashwood hasn’t self-harmed in -” 

“I know that,” Eskel snaps. “But there’s never been a fucking Chaos monster threatening our lives before. ‘Sides, his palm was bleeding in the car - probably dug a nail in. Probably not intentional but the least I can do right now, for both of us, is remove the temptation.” 

Jaskier presses his lips into a thin line, considering. “You’re right,” he sighs. “He’s done this for me before so… yeah I have no room to speak.” 

“Your friend hurts himself?” Ciri asks. “Why?” 

“Partner,” Eskel corrects. “And it’s complicated. Jaskier is gonna be… He can talk about it.” He shoots Jaskier a look, asking, and Jaskier nods. He pats the space next to him on Vesemir’s ancient leather couch, inviting Ciri to join him. 

“Okay, let’s establish what you’re familiar with. Drug addicts?” He says, slightly too loudly - Eskel swears as a knife clatters to the ground. 

“Yes, and I suppose there are those with a tendency to harm themselves,” Ciri says. “Our Jaskier, he told me about a friend of his at Oxenfurt - at university - who’d died by his own hand.” 

"Yes, well, Ashwood is… his parents were told he was a girl when he was born." Jaskier looks up at the exposed wood ceiling and frowns a bit in concentration. "He was told repeatedly he wasn't… well a man and that took its toll on him, along with the body expectations foisted on female bodies which, really, is a bit more complicated than you really need right now.

"It's the same with me - my family expected things of me that I couldn't meet. I felt awful all the time and I found something to make the awfulness stop, at least for a bit," Jaskier says, rubbing the back of his neck. "For Ashwood, the pain of self-harm helped. For me, it was narcotics."

Ciri frowns, lost in thought. It wasn't uncommon to find people in dire straights around the Continent, suffering from poverty, disease, or the like. There were definitely those who escaped using fisstec but never…

"I think I understand," Ciri says, looking through the window at the darkness gathering outside. "Geralt's not… he forgets to eat sometimes. Or will go a really long time without resting, especially if someone he loves is in danger. It's like if he just focuses on something hard enough, he won't have to actually face his worries."

"Our Geralt was like that," Eskel says, settling into a chair across from them. "For a while, anyway. He's gotten better. Don't suppose there's therapists where you're from, though."

"Not entirely sure what you mean by 'therapist' so I'd wager you're correct," Ciri says with a small smile. 

"Considering you have magic and monsters and like.. feudal lords, I'm not surprised," Jaskier grumbles. 

Eskel's phone - a device, Jaskier informed Ciri, not unlike a xenovox - lights up in his hand. He taps at the screen and breaks into a grin, the happiest Ciri's seen him since they met. He turns the phone around and shows them a picture of Ashwood standing in a barn, dripping wet, with an exasperated Geralt in the background wrestling with a mare's tack. Jaskier snorted.

"Ash says we better have food ready by the time they get back, Geralt's been muttering about our 'fancy ass tack' apparently," Eskel chuckles. "Jask, you want to make Pirogies?"

"Fuck yes!" Jaskier punches the air. "Let me pull up my cousin Mieczyk's recipe and I'll join you in the kitchen."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Ciri asks. Eskel grins.

"Absolutely, I'll show you what else we're making."

* * *

Dinner feels almost normal, despite the continued absence of their Geralt. "Witcher" Geralt looms a bit at the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable in Eskel's spare clothes. 

Jaskier, Ashwood and Ciri chat animatedly about music and the adventures Ciri's been on, the horses and the lives of the Witchers. For a while, at least, they're able to forget about the looming danger of the Watcher. 

That is, until Ashwood calls Regis.

"Yes, Regis, I'm serious," Ashwood hisses into the phone. "That thing, the one in Roanoke, followed them here and we need to get them on their way." Ashwood paces around the house, gesticulating wildly as he speaks, trying and failing to keep his voice down as his frustration rises. Geralt tightens his grip on the arms of the chair he'd settled in; Eskel taps him on the shoulder and jerks his head in the direction of another room before walking away, expecting Geralt to follow. 

They stepped out onto a covered porch. Eskel had a cigarette between his lips, flicking a lighter and taking a drag. On the exhale, he profers the pack for Geralt. "Do you smoke at all?" He asks. Geralt shakes his head and Eskel shrugs, pocketing the box and lighter. "I'm down to one a week, usually," he says, "I think Ashwood will forgive the extra one, considering."

"He seems… intense," Geralt says. This should be easy - it's Eskel. But it's not _his_ Eskel, not the brother who he went through the Witcher Trials with; that closeness isn't there. 

Eskel smiles. "Yeah, he gets like that. Part of why I love him so damn much," he says around the cigarette. "He'll figure something out, he might just be a bit loud about it. I usually come out here when he needs space; noise bothers me but you can't always control your voice."

Geralt hummed. "It is… rain is an easier noise to handle," he says, and that doesn't quite cover how much pressure was building in his head as Ashwood paced and raised his voice and complained. He and Eskel stand in silence for a while, watching the waves of rain blur across the dark browns and greens of the surrounding forest. He'd gotten a good sense of the hills attempting to chase down Roach in the fields behind the house - Ashwood described the mountain range as incredibly old and winding, the peaks rounded by wind and rain and time. 

"How… how do you make it work?" Geralt asks after a bit. "With Ashwood, I mean. You seem… dissimilar."

Eskel snorts and laughs, smoke swirling out of his mouth. "I guess we do right now," he says, "wish you hadn't been followed - Ash and I can be a real fucking terror to be around. Jaskier calls us the menace duo. But I mean. We just talked… for a while. And when I had a similar conversation with my brother, he made the same face."

Geralt scowls harder while Eskel laughs. "It's not helpful," he growls.

"Well, you didn't ask for advice, you asked how we make it work," Eskel points out, taking another long drag from his cigarette. "Listen, we don't know enough about each other for me to make guesses about why you're asking me this," he says, "but relationships like what Ash and I have, or even Jaskier and my brother have, take a lot of communication. And patience. And I ain't a relationship counselor so a lot of it you just gotta figure out as you go."

* * *

The next morning, they're still down a Geralt, but they've gained a Regis. The older gentleman is helping Ashwood cook breakfast when Geralt makes his way out of the guest bedroom he shared with Ciri. Jaskier was kind enough to dry Geralt's shirt and trousers, so he _felt_ more like himself. 

Regis looks up from the stove and smiles at Geralt as he hovers at the edge of the kitchen. "My, you do look just like our Geralt, don't you," he says, a genuine smile on his face. "Nice to meet you, Geralt…?"

Geralt's brow furrowed. "...of Rivia?" He finishes. That seemed to be what Regis was looking for, because he nods and grins and keeps cooking.

"Ashwood has explained the predicament -"

"About eight times."

"- and I have a plan. There are gates around the world that I think will serve our purpose," Regis continues, despite Ashwood's interruption. "Of course, it will depend on your Ciri whether we can go today or we have to wait until early tomorrow morning. We have to time this precisely.

"But for now, breakfast!" Regis says brightly, showing Geralt his pan of eggs. "The rain has stopped for the moment but I'm told incidents of ball lightning have increased!"

"Only you would be fascinated by the end of the world, Regis," Ashwood mumbles. 

"I take that as a compliment."

* * *

The anxiety in the house is getting to Ciri - she wants to pull everyone close to her and tell them everything will be alright. She doesn't even know that it will be alright, but she can't stand the way Jaskier is pacing around the house, the worried glaces Ashwood and Eskel keep exchanging, and the grinding silence of her Geralt. 

"Has Geralt called yet?" Jaskier asks Eskel for the fourth time this hour. Eskel shakes his head, patient as he was the last time Jaskier asked. The singer begins to pace again. 

"Well, we could tell stories to pass the time," Regis says. "Like campfire stories."

"This isn't a sleep away camp, Regis," Eskel grumbles. Regis shrugs.

"Someone needs to lift the dour mood. I know things are tense but we cannot leave until later tonight, isn't that right, Ciri?"

"That's right," Ciri confirms, "that's the earliest I can channel an external source of magic, safely."

"And that's when a portal would open anyway, around 9 pm," Regis says, "so until then nothing we do will be productive. We may as well tell stories."

"I can start," Geralt says, to the surprise of everyone, including himself. "I realize I haven't said much about my Jaskier." He clears his throat and adjusts his posture a bit, acutely aware of the eyes on him (especially Jaskier's - the singer stopped pacing when he mentioned his name).

"Ciri mentioned we're called witchers," Geralt starts, "it's a trade. We're monster hunters, mostly, though the world tends to draw a thin line between how they fear monsters and how they fear witchers. Unless, of course, you're an 18-year-old bard playing to an unenthusiastic crowd in a tavern at the end of the world."

Geralt talks of Posada, of the foolish bard who walked up to him with a bad line about bread. About the satyr and the elves - possibly too much about the elves, given the way nearly everyone (except Regis, bless him) loses focus until he loops back around to Filavandrel's lute. And the blasted song that followed.

"He wrote you a song?" Jaskier asks. "Wow. Bit forward of him but I suppose he was 18."

"Jaskier, you had 3 songs written about our Geralt before you two had even had a proper conversation," Ashwood says, an evil grin plastered on his face. Jaskier gapes.

"They were only _vaguely_ about Geralt, thank you very much!"

"Were your's full of half-truths, as well?" Geralt asks, chuckling when Jaskier begins to flail around in frustration.

"I cannot have Witcher Geralt….Witcheralt and Ashwood both dragging me like this," he grumbles, stomping off dramatically into the kitchen. He returns with a cup of coffee as Regis begins talking about his bookstore with Ciri, and Ashwood, Eskel, and Geralt talk about the type of therapy Vesemir and Eskel provide. He has to admit, he is calmer by the time they hear the rumble of a car in the drive.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes and sprints put the door and into the rain, throwing himself into his Geralt's arms. Geralt staggers but holds Jaskier tight to his chest, pressing kisses to the smaller man's head and carrying him inside. The crew waves, and the Geralt's make eye contact. Witcher Geralt sees himself holding Jaskier close and swallows around something tight in his throat.

"So," Geralt says, letting Jaskier back down on the floor. "What did I miss?"

* * *

Rain poured in sheets by the time the rag-tag crew of musicians and witchers arrived at the Cascades. Regis hops out of Ashwood’s Subaru and begins helping Jaskier with the instruments. Eskel, their Geralt and Ciri, and the witchers start down the path toward the specified clearing. 

“I hate this,” Jaskier half-yells at Ashwood over the rain. His friend sighs, shouldering his old piano. 

“Yeah, impending doom kind of blows,” Ashwood agrees. “Why do you think it’s just us?” 

“The doom is understandable, friends, but we really must get going,” Regis says, closing the truck. “If we want this to work before that thing gets any closer.” He points over the treeline at the massive shadow creature making its way towards the Cascades. 

“Fuck, okay let’s move it,” Ashwood yells and the trio run toward the clearing. 

Surprisingly enough, the clearing does feel vaguely magical. The rain is lighter here, despite the lack of tree cover, and an odd stone stands dead center of the nearly perfect circle of trees. The stone had a large circle bored out of the top, and was covered in carvings both recent and more… ancient looking. 

“Regis, please tell me this isn’t an Indigenous religious space,” Ashwood says as he pulls out his keyboard. Regis shakes his head. 

“No, this is more recent, though this is ground originally hunted by the Cheorokee and the Shawnee peoples before they were forcibly removed west by the colonists,” he says, “this space is said to be where a portal, similar to those that our friends here used, opened and allowed travelers to move through our world in the late 1800’s. There hasn’t been activity since, but if the calculations my friend ran are accurate, a portal should open here soon, and we can use that inherent magic to help Ciri open her portal.” 

“Why do Jask and Ash need to play, then?” Geralt asks. Witcher Geralt grunts, seemingly in agreement. 

“We need something from our world that we consider ‘magic’ to channel the portal,” Regis says, as if that were obvious to everyone. 

“Yeah, Geralt, music is magic,” Jaskier says with a confident wink. Geralt frowns. In the distance, the steps of the Watcher echo through the trees and the world shakes. 

“How will we know if it’s working?” Eskel asks. Ashwood finishes setting up his keyboard - tuning the instruments is exceedingly difficult in the rain. Witcher Ciri rests her hand on the stone. 

“I’ll know,” she says. 

“Pleasantly cryptic, as usual," Jaskier quips. 

“Can we just get on with this please? There is a giant monster marching it’s way over here and I would prefer the world not end,” Eskel says, gesturing at the set up. Ashwood and Jaskier share and look and stand on either side of the portal stone. Witchers Geralt and Ciri stood to the east and the west of the stone as planned. 

"If this is the end of our world, but you get out, I want you to remember us," says Jaskier before they start. "Promise."

"I promise," Witcher Geralt says. And the singers began to play.

_"You look like I need a drink, " he winked as he slipped from my grasp to the bar_

_"And you are?", aaah-aaah_

As Ashwood’s voice filled the air around them, the rain in the clearing stopped completely. More that stopped - the droplets hung in the air around them. Chaos crackles wildly between Ciri and Geralt, Jaskier and Ashwood, and somehow the music continues. The source and the players are engulfed in a sort of yellow light, a blinding beacon that seemed to draw the Watcher closer. Ciri bows her head in focus, attempting to channel the raw Chaos into a portal.

The Watcher steps closer, so close they can feel the static of it's Chaos, the flashes of nightmarish vision shaking the audience of three. Regis is the first to take step back; Geralt squares his shoulders and does what he does best. He yells at the problem.

"HEY! Watcher, look here!" He yells through cupped hands. To his surprise, the Watcher stops - it turns what looks like it's head in Geralt's direction. The massive being vibrates in place for a moment, as if the very act of staying still is tearing it apart. The Watcher reels backwards, shaking its head and stumbling, smacking its legs together as if fighting itself. As it backs away, the ache of its presence dissipates, and Geralt can hear Jaskier's voice over the din of the world breaking.

_I'm the tales that the guests will applaud and believe_

_I'm the child that you just didn't have time to conceive_

The song swells the same way it always does, but the yellow glow gathering at Ciri's fingertips coalesces in her hand and crashes against the stone and tears open reality, a portal to nowhere. Witcher Geralt and Ciri make eye contact and neither hesitates. They break into a sprint and dash into the portal, Ciri first, and then Geralt.

Jaskier and Ashwood don't finish singing so much as the both scream as the light surrounding them is sucked into the portal. The Watcher bellows above them and Eskel is certain the entire world goes out as a massive purple tear opens in the sky.

They wake in the clearing hours later - the rain has returned, though not as intense, and purple lightning streaks through the sky. Geralt moves to cradle Jaskier's head in his lap, and Eskel pulls Ashwood closer to him. Out of all of them, Regis is the first to speak.

"Perhaps we're not without Chaos anymore," he says, indicating the woods beyond the clearing. Amongst the trees, glowing sets of eyes stare back at them.

**Author's Note:**

> It's done! *collapses*
> 
> Chapter title from FAREWELL WANDERLUST by The Amazing Devil
> 
> Mieczyk belongs to the lovely [@dreadshirtroberts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dredshirtroberts/pseuds/dredshirtroberts) please go show him some love


End file.
